


Still Standing

by huffletiika



Series: The Pack Survives [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Jon Snow Deserves Better, Jon Snow is a Stark, No Incest, Post-Canon, The main ship here is Jon / freedom and happiness actually, as in where rickon was before being captured, but there's a love story with an original character because I wanted to give him some love, family love, in the same universe as my fic the most, mentions of trauma, mentions to ygritte and daenerys as his past lovers, mixed the series with the books a bit, this is jon's story, we get the gendrya wedding here that's why it's tagged okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffletiika/pseuds/huffletiika
Summary: From the same AU as my Gendrya fic The Most, this is a fix-it fic for what happens to Jon after the events of the show.Jon hasn't been in the wall for a couple of years, having decided to go beyond the wall, to support the reconstruction of the free folk settlements. However, one day he decides to return to Castle Black to chat with the Lord Commander regarding their progress, but instead he meets a ghost from the past, who has a proposal for him that he doesn't know if he will be able to reject.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark (mentioned), Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Gendry Waters, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s), Tormund Giantsbane & Jon Snow
Series: The Pack Survives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653001
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the notes and the summary, this is a fix-it fic for everything that happened to Jon at the finale, as I think he deserved better. The story is with show canon, but took little liberties and included a bit from the books, like Rickon's location before being captured by Ramsay. The main ship here is Jon with happiness, freedom and care. There's a OC that will be introduced to give him some love, but it's not the center of this story.
> 
> Hope you like it.

It’s been two years, Jon though, as he glanced up at the massive wall of ice that was supposed to protect them from the long night, and that painfully failed when faced with an un-dead dragon. With a resigned sigh, he urged his horse to a faster trot. The fastest he arrived to castle black, the sooner he could ride back to the wilding’s communities, and forget about Westeros for another couple of years.

He wasn’t alone.

Beside him was Ghost, his companion, the only one who have remained by his side since before leaving Winterfell for the first time, and yet the first one he had tried to send away as soon as he learned that it was the blood of the dragons (instead of that of the wolves) that ran through his veins. He still hated himself for that.

He had done many bad decisions at that time, thinking he was doing the right thing, and that only brought him to one misfortune after the other. First, he had left what he thought had been love turn him into a puppet, going south to fight a war that shouldn’t have been fought, following a queen that he shouldn’t have trusted so blindly.

He closed his eyes when her name arose back in his mind. It’s been a while since the last time it had happened as, most of the time, he did his best to avoid anything that would remind him of her. But now, as he rode back to the kingdom she desperately wanted to rule, the white snow that covered everything around him made him thing in her silvery locks, and with those thoughts came the memory of her eyes, and the words that came from her lips before he drove a dagger into her heart.

_‘We break the wheel together.’_

Jon took a deep breath, trying his best to focus in something else to avoid the emotions to overtake him, as the doors started to open in front of him, and a boy who couldn't be older than he was when he joined the watch, came to greet him, his clothes all black.

After the coronation of Bran and Sansa as King and Queen of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and the North, respectively, the wall ceased to be considered a prison for those who have done wrong to the kingdoms, and more young men and women started to join the Night’s Watch for the mere desire to serve, and honor those who perished during the long night. Most of them, having lost a family member during the battle, and wanting to see to it that something like this does not happen again.

Because of that, the real north was starting to thrive. They were working on re-building the huge wall, in case the death decided to rise again, and most of the castles that had been abandoned along it, so they could give them to those interested in making them prosper, no matter if they were from a noble house of Westeros, or if it was a wilding community wanting to settle in southern lands.

“Welcome to Castle Black, Lord Snow,” the boy said, taking the reins of his horse as he dismounted. “They await you in the Lord Commander's chambers,” he informed him, and then started to guide his mount to the stables.

Jon nodded, starting to walk towards the courtyard while taking off his gloves, casting a brief glance at the brothers who were training there. He was surprised about how many people were there, as he had received a message about the increase in the number of recruits, but not that it would have been so great. Though, excited as he was about it, he didn’t notice that half the men there weren’t wearing black, or that instead of it they wore the sigil of the Starks in their armors. Honestly, he was too focused in just going to make his report to the Lord Commander about the advances at the wilding settlements, and then go back there to the place he had been calling home for the last couple of years, that he wouldn’t notice if suddenly an entire pack of Direwolves appeared in front of him.

“Lord Snow,” Lörinc, a young man with dusty fair hair from Winter Town, who had decided to join the Night’s Watch after losing his whole family during the long night, was standing next to the entrance to the Lord Commander’s keep. “It's an honor to see you again, and in better circumstances,” he smiled, and guided him inside the tower, with a very excited Ghost following them closely.

That’s weird coming from his Direwolf, he thought, and then noticed the guards standing very still at the chamber’s doors. Since when did the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch have guards? He was going to ask this question to Lörinc, when he finally noticed the sigil in the men’s armors, and felt his own heart racing.

‘ _Arya?’_ He thought, and his legs started walking faster towards the door. Maybe, she changed her mind and decided to come to him instead of West of Westeros, and whatever that was there to be found. But, then his brain made him realize that the only Stark who could be there at the moment, bringing such a retinue with her, wouldn’t be his younger sister but Sansa.

The Queen in the North.

Ghost passed past him when he opened the door to the Lord Commander’s chambers, and there, sitting behind the desk and drinking a cup of ale, he saw his sister. No, cousin. She was dressed in gray furs, the stark sigil very noticeable in the snap of her cape and in various stitched details in her dress, and her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders like a crimson waterfall.

She smiled fondly when Ghost got next to her and put his huge snout on her lap, immediately taking her hand to his head, and scratching behind his ears, causing the Direwolf bliss.

Jon sighed.

“What are you doing here, your Grace?” he asked, without bowing or showing any act of respect. He knew he was skipping many etiquette rules for when you meet a queen, but he didn’t care, she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“It’s nice to see you too,” she said, putting her drink down at the table, and looking at him with a sad smile. “I came here because I needed a word with my brother, and apparently my ravens won’t approach the wildlings settlements.” He could sense the explicit reproach in each of her words.

They did, he just couldn’t get himself to write a reply.

“If you wanted to speak with your brother, your grace, you should have gone to King’s Landing.” he responded, looking at her carefully from his spot close to the door, without allowing himself to take a seat.

Sansa looked different then from how he remembered her. But, of course she would, she was Queen now. She wasn’t wearing her crown, but the Stark woman didn’t need it to look as a proper ruler of the North, it’s like the new title had taken over her in every possible way, until there was no hint of the frightened girl who had come to Castle Black many years prior looking for the only blood relative she thought she had left.

“Bran is not the brother I require to speak with today,” she said, without a flinch.

“I’m not your brother,” he replied, because he couldn’t handle living in that lie for longer. He wasn’t a Stark, and he wasn’t her sibling, he was just a fake dragon that did such terrible thing as killing his kin.

“Yes, you are,” her confident reply made his insides fluster. “No matter who conceived you, our father called you his son, and that makes you my brother,” she raised her brow as if challenging him to contradict her, and took a deep breath when no word came out from his lips. He was too moved by her words to trust in his voice coming out as firm as he wished at the moment.

They stayed silent for a while. Jon noted that at one point she seemed to be about to say something, before closing her mouth again, and looking down at her glass as if she wasn't sure how to say what was on her mind, and was trying to find better words. He decided to give her a break, finally moving closer, and taking a seat in the chair front of the desk where she was sitting.

Sansa took a deep breath.

“Years ago, I made a huge mistake,” she started speaking, her blue eyes filled with emotions as their gazes met. “I betrayed you, I told Tyrion the truth about your birth, thinking you’d be–” her voice weakened. “Thinking my brother would be a better king for the realm than a woman who seemed to think that fire and blood were the only solution to all her predicaments.”

“Sansa–”

“No, let me finish,” she cut him off, stopping to stroke Ghost’s fur to lay both her hands on the mahogany surface of the Lord Commander’s desk. Who, not so curiously for Jon, was absent in the room. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about this… two years, I’ve been two years all by myself in Winterfell, without my family, when all I wished was for us to get back our home so we could finally be together in the place where we used to be happy. But, you’re not there, none of you. Bran’s in King’s Landing being the King of the six freaking southern kingdoms, Arya is somewhere at the western sea, and the only way I know she’s still alive is because I’m making Bran keep an eye on her. And you, you are up here serving a sentence you don't deserve, to pay for something that is mostly my fault–”

“You weren't the one who put a dagger in her heart,” he broke in, and Sansa flinched at his crude words.

“I know,” she said, her face softening just like her words. “But, my actions led to the circumstances that forced you to do so,” she closed her eyes for a while, and then opened them, allowing him to see the guilt that filled with tears. “Back then, I didn’t consider your feelings, I didn’t care that you didn’t want to become the King of the seven Kingdoms, I was only thinking about what I thought was best for the North… for myself” the redhead continued. “I was selfish, I put you in an impossible situation just because I couldn’t stop playing the game of thrones. Because, somehow, I started to think and behave as the person I hated the most.” She didn’t have to say the name for him to evoke the image of the former queen in his head. “It’s all my fault”.

“No, it’s not,” he had a need to reassure her, to make her see that she didn't have to blame herself for what had happened, that it was all his fault. “I took my decision, and I did what I had to do without hesitation.” He paused to put his thoughts together. “You didn’t see what she did to them, to the people from King’s Landing. She turned them into ashes–” memories started to invade his head. “Women, children, helpless people… all of them asking for mercy as they were consumed by fire, and those who were lucky enough to escape from the dragon fire, being slaughtered and raped by our men,” he fixed his severe gaze on her. “Arya was there, in the city. She was covered with blood and soot when she appeared next to me, and the thought came to me… my family, she could have killed my family too, and I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

The grimace on her face told him that she didn’t know about the risk their sister had been in, about how close they had come to losing her too.

“It’s still my fault,” she spoke, stubbornly, and raised her hand to stop him when he was about to argue. “She was grieving, and what I did pulled her further away from those people she trusted the most, and that could have stopped her from doing what she did. She had lost her most beloved friends, two of her dragons, and then I made her lose Varys, Tyrion… and then, I made her lose you,” she looked down at her hands. “She became the mad queen because of me, I’m the one who killed all those people, who could have killed our dear sister, I–” she whimpered, and he reached her hands to cover them with his.

“Sansa, please… stop. It wasn’t your fault,” he tried to calm her down, but she shook her head and pulled her hands away from his.

“I can’t!” she cried out, getting on her feet. “ _I can’t…_ ” she repeated, now softly, as she hugged herself and walked to the window that allowed her to watch at the brothers and the members of the royal guard who were training at the courtyard.

Jon also got up from his seat, going to get himself a drink, as he hoped the Lord Commander wouldn’t mind him doing so if he had so kindly allowed them to use his solar for their talk, while waiting for the Queen to calm down.

“I loved her,” he spoke after a while, as he couldn’t handle another minute in complete silence. “But, after knowing the truth about myself, I couldn’t get myself to be with her the way she wanted me to,” he traced the outline of his glass with his index finger, feeling his own heart shriek at his confession. “I know Targaryen dynasty grew with siblings marrying each other, so it shouldn’t matter if she was my aunt,” he flinched.

The word still goaded, even if two years had already passed.

“But, I was raised in the north, and I couldn’t do such thing. I couldn’t bring myself to-”, he sat back on his chair, and let out a long and tired sigh. “And, I saw how that was getting into her head, how she started to see me as a threat instead of an ally, because if I wasn’t _with_ her, then I would easily be against her. She thought I wanted the throne, she wouldn’t stop asking me about that, and it was long before I told you and Arya the truth… so, don't put all the blame on your shoulders, because she lost me long before the truth came out of your lips.”

Silence fell back over them.

“She loved you too,” Sansa finally spoke, coming back to sit at the chair in front of him. “She told me that all her life she had known only one goal, taking back the iron throne, until he met you,” she closed her eyes, as if she was looking back at the memories in her head. “Your queen told me that she loved your… that she trusted you–”

“And, then I killed her,” he cut in, still wounded by his own actions. “She deserved better than that twisted end those entities who write our destiny chose for her, and that I so diligently accomplished. She deserved to live long, Sansa, and to show the world that she wasn’t a monster, that she cared for the people, that she wanted to do better than many of the Targaryen before her.”

“I know why you’re here, but I believe I deserve this sentence,” he spoke again about the topic as they were having supper at the great hall, surrounded by the rest of the members of the Watch and the Queen’s guard, as their previous conversation had gotten cut when Lörinc knocked on the door, informing them that supper was about to be served and that the Lord Commander expected their presence when they allowed him in.

“Do you?” she asked, looking around. She didn’t seem to be comfortable talking about it with so many people around. “As I see it, you saved the realm by doing what had to be done, and we all thanked you with exile,” she continued eating, occasionally talking with the Lord Commander, who was sitting at her left.

Jon stayed silent, until the men started leaving the table to go to their chambers.

“It was that, or allowing the Unsullied to take my life,” he continued, looking at the empty plate in front of him. “Besides, I’m good here.”

“No, you aren’t,” she cut in, turning her body completely to face him, not caring that she was turning her back on the Lord Commander. She was the Queen, after all. “You aren’t good because you can't decide for yourself whether is here where you want to be, or if you want to be somewhere else,” she continued, ignoring the looks of the people remaining in the table. “We had an army, Jon. The whole North was there to get you back, but we let them do this to you. We let them make you believe that you deserved to be punished, and didn’t do anything to deny them their stupid retribution, when their forces would have been nothing against ours at that moment.”

Many people, knowing that they shouldn’t be hearing that conversation, started to walk out of the room. Jon looked around, thinking that they should leave as well, but his sister seemed to be okay with staying there, as if she wanted to have as many witnesses to her words as possible.

He sighed. “What do you intend to do?” he asked, because he didn’t know what else he could do. She was there to speak with him, surely after asking Bran to inform her as soon as their brother knew that he was planning to return to Castle Black. And, if she had done as much as to know that, she surely already had something planned for him.

“The North is independent, and I’m their Queen,” she stated, like she was making an announcement to those who were still around them. The Lord Commander and the Maester, amongst them. “So, with the power I behold, I, Queen Sansa Stark, the first of her name, decree that your crimes have been pardoned in the Northern territory, wish gives you the freedom to leave the Night’s Watch and their vows immediately, and move within our kingdom at your will,” she announced, and many of the men cheered. “Now, you’re free to do whatever you want, to go wherever you want to go, as long as you stay in the North,” she continued. “Sadly, I couldn’t get Bran to do the same, as the Iron Islands are still part of the six kingdoms, and Theon’s sister is a Bitch. But, give it some time, I’m sure they will find a way to make it official there too.”

He was speechless.

“What–” he cleared his throat. “What do you mean I’m pardoned?”

The redhead smiled. “It means you’re free now,” she said, her head very high as the words left her lips. “It means you can come back to Winterfell, or go back to the Free Folk’ settlements, but it would be your choice, not ours. It means you can find love again, and have as many children as you wish with that woman, as long as you take them to meet their dear aunt in Winterfell,” she continued, before taking a drink from her cup. “All your life, you have been forced to become something you didn’t even want to be. You were a Bastard, a brother of the Night’s Watch, a Lord Commander, and a King, and none of those were your decisions. Now, I want you to decide your own path, without anyone doing that decision for you.”

“Sansa, I-”

“Let me finish, please,” she smiled at him, and Jon nodded. “Now, if you decide to go back to Winterfell, the position of the captain of my Queensguard is available, or any position you want, anyway. You know, I could use a good counselor,” he was taken aback by her offer. “But, if you decide that you don’t want any of it, that you want to stay up here with your friends, then I hope you visit home when you feel like doing it… the hallways are so quiet, and it’s haunted with so many memories, that I’m always looking for an excuse to visit other keeps.”

He put his hand on over hers. “Thanks, I–” he took a deep breath. “I will think about it… about your offer, I mean,” he looked at her, expectantly, and she nodded with a bright smile on her lips.

“That’s all I expected”.

It’s been eight moons since Sansa gave him the North’s pardon, which he had spent still up at the north of the wall, helping at the building of the new Free Folk settlements, and creating accords with the leaders of each of them, to create trade agreements and communication channels, so they could inform the Watch about any other threat that could surface up there.

It was the same he had been doing the last almost three years, but this time it was his choice, not his punishment.

But, one night, during a feast the members of the settlement he was staying with were having around a wood fire, he saw the families laughing together, and the kids playing around, and memories of his own childhood flooded his head.

Robb and Theon’s laughs as Jory made him fall on his arse into the mud during one of their training sessions, Sansa’s curious gaze on him as she was going to one of her lessons with the Septa, and Arya’s smile as she came to him covered with mud and grass, putting a flower crown on his head. Bran, running around and climbing trees, telling him to see how high he could get, and little Rickon, always pulling him from his cloak, putting his chubby toddler arms up to ask him to carry him on his shoulders. Which, he gladly did every time.

Then, the realization that half those people were now just memories, and that the other half weren’t those children anymore, and he felt his heart ache.

“You okay, crow?” Tormund sat next to him, offering him a wineskin whose content he didn’t even question, before drinking it.

“Yeah–” Jon got to reply, despite his coughing, and the grimace that appeared on his face, due to the bitter liquid that ran down his throat. “Just thinking,” he looked back at the flames in front of him, wishing his Direwolf was next to him to sink his hands into his fur, as it always helped to calm him down. But, Ghost was somewhere at the woods feeding himself, and he didn’t want to interrupt it.

“Still thinking about my royal fellow redhead proposal, I guess,” the wildling wasn’t even asking, but still Jon nodded in response. “Do you want to go? To Winterfell, I mean,” he asked this time, giving him a reassuring smile.

He sighed.

“I don’t know,” he replied, and the huge man chuckled.

“You just reminded me to _someone_ who used to say that about you,” he said, and the memory of certain fierce redhead appeared in his head. Thinking about her still hurt, like re-opening an old wound, but he could feel now that the good memories began to overshadow the painful ones, making a nostalgic smile appear on his face. “She’d be proud of everything you’ve done around here, crow, but this is not the place where you belong,” Tormund retrieved his wineskin, and took a long gulp from it.

“Are you trying to get rid of me, my friend?” he asked with mocked offense, and the huge man started to cackle, slapping him loudly on the back before taking another drink and looking around, taking his time to give him an answer.

“I’m just saying that you deserve to be in a place you can call home,” he finally spoke. “And, even if I’m thrilled to have you around, I can see this place is not that for you,” he moved his hand around, pointing at their settlement.

“I don't know if Winterfell is my home, either,” he admitted, silently asking Tormund to hand him back the wineskin, and drinking from it. “What if I go there and it feels foreign?” he asked, with a sigh.

“Then you’re free to come back, crow. I’m sure every folk here will greet you with open arms.” He nudged him friendly. “You’ll never know where your home is if you stay here lurking,” he concluded, and then stood saying he needed to take a piss and look for a woman to warm his furs that night, before walking away.

Another moon passed before he stood again in front of the gates of Winterfell, his heart racing as the sight of the courtyard that was always in his thoughts, full of ghosts of a life that seemed to have been a long time ago.

Besides him, walked his Direwolf and the boy called Lörinc, as the boy had gone to pick up some recruits to bring to Castle Black. However, Jon thought that perhaps the boy had ulterior motives for being there, such as paying his respects to his own dead, or find out how someone he had left behind to join the night's watch was.

Either way, he wasn’t going to pry.

“Jon,” Sansa’s voice brought him back from his thoughts, and he looked forward, seeing the Queen herself approaching them.

The boy kneeled, and he was about to do the same, but his sister was faster to pull him into a thigh hug. “I’m glad you came, brother” she said, still embracing him.

He also wrapped his arms around her, and closed his eyes, remembering that time in Castle Black when they first hugged, since they never did as children. “Me too,” he replied, and then they pulled apart, and she looked at his companion with a smile.

“Please, get up. That is not necessary,” she requested, and the boy accomplished.

“You remember Lörinc, don’t you?” Jon asked her, and the Queen nodded, giving the brother of the Night’s Watch a warm smile.

“I do,” Sansa said, and then spoke some words to one of the maids who followed her there. “You can give your reins to one of my servants, they will feed your saddles and take them to the stables to rest,” she informed them. And, when they obliged, she pointed to one of the maids. “She will show you your chambers,” she spoke to Lörinc. “And, I asked her to get a bath for you, as well.”

The boy seemed to be taken aback, not used to that kind of luxury.

“Thank you, your Grace,” he replied with a bow, and then followed the servant.

Sansa looked back at Jon, the sincere smile growing on her lips. He sighed, and then saw as his dear Direwolf went to request a few pets from the queen, who laughed and cradled to hide her face in the white fur.

“I missed you too,” she replied to the red-eyed beast, as if she had heard him speak any word. Then, she looked up at Jon. “It took you long enough to take my offer.”

“I still don’t know if I’m staying,” he told her, and her smile died for a few seconds, before a low sigh came out of her lips and she stood up, her hand still caressing the Direwolf behind its ears. “But, I wanted to see some family.”

She nodded. “Fair enough,” Sansa said, and then smiled again. “Come, brother. I will show you your chambers myself,” she grabbed his arm, starting to guide him inside the big castle that he used to call his home, and that was starting to look again like the place he remembered from his childhood.

“What an honor,” he teased, receiving the Queen’s laugh as response.

“The Free Folk and the Night’s Watch are working together to build homes and provide people at the north with everything they require,” he informed her, as they had lunch in her solar. “We have made peace accords with different communities of the free folk that survived the long night, even with those at the isle of Skagos. Did you know Rickon was with them?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“I had no idea,” she spoke, and he could notice how her smile flattered.

“They protected him like one of them, until some northern lord tricked them, saying he would take him with his family,” he told her what the Skagosi leader had told him. “They feel like they failed the savage wolf, as they used to call him.”

Jon looked at her and knew she was thinking the same as him. The body of their younger sibling laying lifeless on the ground, his body pierced by Ramsay Bolton's arrows, and his blood staining the snow around him red. The Free Folk didn’t fail their brother, it was all their fault. They had returned to Winterfell with an army to save their brother, and that monster had killed him anyway, because they weren’t smart enough to find a way to rescue him.

“He paid for it,” Sansa finally spoke, after a few minutes of complete silence. “We made him pay,” she repeated, as if she had spoken those words a thousand of times to reassure herself in all those years.

He nodded.

Jon leaves Winterfell a couple moons later, bringing with him a dozen of new recruits for the Night’s Watch, and letters and resources for both the Lord Commander of the Watch and the leaders of Free Folk communities, from the Queen in the North.

The trip is mostly silent.

Jon notices that his young trip companion spends most of it looking pretty miserable, like he had had a hard goodbye with someone back there in Winterfell, so the night before they would arrive to Castle Black he sat beside him, and offered him a cup with ale.

“It’s about a girl?” he asked, and the boy seemed surprised by his question, but still nodded in his direction. “If you had someone, then why did you join the Watch?”

“I thought she didn’t care for me,” he replied, with a sigh. “And, I had no one else. My parents, they died when the Ironborn raided Winterfell, and my brother and two sisters died during the long night, so I joined the Watch.”

Jon nodded. “I know that feeling,” Jon said. “I joined the watch for the first time because I was the bastard son of the most honorable lord in all Westeros,” he rolled his eyes. “The sole evidence of his only reprehensible act,” he shrugged.

“But, you weren’t actually his bastard.”

The truth about his parentage was now a well-known secret for every person in Westeros and beyond the wall. Hell, he was sure that even the mummers in Essos entertained their audience with the story of the dragon, who was raised as a bastard wolf, that had become in his aunt’s lover, and later in her murderer.

He flinched at the thought.

“I didn’t know that back then,” he replied, looking back at the boy. “Just as you didn’t know that this girl cared about when you took your vows.”

The blonde took a sip of his drink.

“I told her not to wait for me, to find someone else to have a family with,” he breathed out.

“These are different times,” Jon replied. “Perhaps, I can ask Sansa if–”

“I’m not a deserter,” he cut him off, looking at the men who were walking around, setting the camp up so they could go early to sleep and start the last part of their journey at dawn. “Neither have any wish of letting anyone kill me, nor a red priest to bring me back to life, to use your method to end my watch,” he concluded, and even if his words were harsh, Jon could see he wasn’t trying to offend him with them.

The boy stood up and walked directly to his own tent, thus ending their conversation.

“He’s been out there way too long” said Tormund, looking at the woods, in the direction Ghost had taken when he went hunting. That was over a day ago. “Do you think he’s okay?” the wildling continued, as Jon packed his belongings. He’s planning to set out back to Winterfell as soon as his Direwolf came back to the settlement.

It had been eight months since his last visit.

“Don't worry, he's fine,” he replied, certainty. His older companion and him had a connection that allowed him to be sure about such assertion. In fact, he could swear he could feel him in his way back. “Perhaps, he had a difficult prey to catch.”

“Perhaps, he’s out there fucking a she-wolf,” the redhead suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. “Or a male, who am I to judge?” he added, causing both their laughs.

Honestly, Jon had been thinking about the possibility that his friend had found a mate, as his hunting excursions were getting longer and longer, and that was something that made him think about the possibility of allowing him to stay in the camp when he returned to Winterfell. After all, he only planned to stay a couple of moons there, as he had done the previous time.

But no, he couldn't. He had promised himself that he would never again leave his most faithful friend behind, unless he was the one who wanted to stay.

Jon continued packing.

This time, they were in a new settlement stablished close to where Hardhome used to be (he really was having a hard time being there, as memories of what had happened in that place flooded his mind), so he was going to take a boat to Eastwatch, and there he would gather a horse to ride to Winterfell, which would take a couple of days at most, since he wasn’t traveling with any entourage that could delay his advance. He just had to wait for his friend to come back, then he could leave.

When a couple more hours passed and ghost still didn't show up, he started to worry. His gaze went constantly to the trees that led to the forest, hoping that his best friend's red eyes would appear between them, but after a few moments he gave up.

“Do you think we should go find him?” he asked Tormund, looking for his sword and cloak, but then something at his left caught his attention, and he looked in this direction to find Ghost trotting towards them, his remaining ear bent down, and bringing something hanging from his snout.

A rabbit?

“Well, at least he brought a snack for your trip,” Tormund laughed, and Jon was about to join him, but he fell silent when he noticed that the ball of fur that Ghost brought with him wasn’t actually a rabbit.

His feet moved at their own will, and before he knew it, his Direwolf was letting him take the little puppy in his hands, patiently waiting as looked at it in detail. It was small, much smaller than Ghost had been the first time he had held him in his arms. Its fur was as white as the ones of his Direwolf, but its eyes were as blue as the northern sky, and it… it was a girl.

“Told ya, the fucker has been getting laid,” Tormund waved the fur of his friend, but he didn’t take his eyes off Jon, nor the little wolf in his hands.

“It’s yours?” he asked to the large creature, and he brought his snout to the puppy's head as response. “The mother?” Ghost looked at the woods, and then back at him, and somehow Jon knew the answer. “She abandoned her,” he said, and somehow, he could see in the eyes of the eyes of his friend that he was right.

She was the runt, the smallest of the litter, the weakest… just as Ghost had been then, and so her mother had abandoned her.

“Let’s find some milk to feed her, we are taking her with us to Winterfell,” he decided, and he prayed to all the gods, old and new, that the little creature would survive their journey.

She did, and Sansa took complete control of her care as they walked through the Winterfell gates and she noticed the small white fur ball he carried in a makeshift hammock against his chest, to keep it warm.

“have you chosen a name for her?” asked the queen, while feeding the little Direwolf.

They were sitting in her solar, talking about everything that had happened at the south while he was with the Free Folk, and their siblings. Bran was doing a great job as king of the six kingdoms, and Arya was still sailing west, although their younger brother insisted that she was well and that one day she would return. Sansa, of course, had asked when that would be, but her southern counterpart had responded with a cryptic _‘the decision has not been made yet’_ , which had notoriously exasperated her.

“I thought you might have the honor,” he replied, with a soft smile. “I plan to leave her with you.”

The queen seemed to have been surprised.

“I–” she stammered. “Why?”

Jon smiled. “Because I can’t take care of two Direwolves,” he recognized, and she chuckled. “And, because I think she would be better with you as her companion.” Some tears appeared in her eyes when she looked down at the little creature now sleeping on her lap, and he could see that she was thinking about her Direwolf, Lady, who was killed on their way to King’s Landing many years ago.

“Thank you,” she said, stroking the little furry head.

He nodded. “Thank you for wanting to take care of her,” he said, and then pointed at the father, who was sleeping next to the fireplace. “And, I’m sure he’s grateful too. Pretty sure he doesn’t know how to take care of a baby wolf.”

They both laughed.

“I’ll think about a name,” she promised.

“So, have you at least thought about my offer?” Sansa asked, as she stood next to him in that high spot from where Lord Ned Stark and his wife, Lady Catelyn, used to watch their children train and play at the yard.

Jon tore his gaze away from the new guard’s recruits, whom he had been watching since breaking his fast that morning, to fix it on his sister… or cousin, he didn’t really know how to call her in his head since learning about his parents.

“I was asking myself how long you would resist before asking me that question,” he said, a smile on his lips, before looking back at the yard. “I have, but I still have no answer to give you,” he replied, and then they stayed there in a comfortable silence.

Beneath them, the queen's guard member who trained the cadets was explaining some basics of sword fighting to them, and although he was doing it quite well, the temptation to step in and give his opinion was really strong.

“The armors are really good,” he said, suddenly. He had already noticed how fine the metal work was when Sansa had traveled to speak with him in Castle Black and he had seen her guards at the doors of the Lord Commander’s solar, but now in action it looked more impressive. “Got a new blacksmith for Winterfell?” he kept his sight on the men who were training.

“Not really,” she said, and something in her tone made him look back at her. “They come from Storm’s End.”

He frowned, as he couldn’t remember those lands to be as good in smith work as to be able to trade their creations with other kingdoms, much less the North. But, suddenly he remembered who the new Lord of Storm’s End was, and everything made sense. The blacksmith had used his labor to make the lands that had been given to him, along with his title and well-deserved last name, to flourish.

He could feel the pride in his friend growing in his chest.

“Gendry,” he said, and the Queen confirmed with a nod.

“Lord Baratheon has been teaching every commoner, interested in learning and having a decent job, to work with metal,” she told him. “They started by reforming the armor of the Baratheon bannermen, and then Bran placed an order for his new King's Guard, and after that, I couldn't resist placing my request as well.”

Jon’s smile grew.

Perhaps Daenerys had brought not only destruction to Westeros, but new opportunities for those like Gendry, although her reasons for legitimizing him have not been disinterested, but one more movement of her game of conquest.

“Apparently, Lord Baratheon and Arya knew each other,” the redhead spoke again, her gaze still on the yard.

“They both were here to fight the others,” he replied, not understanding how that could be something strange for his cousin. “I guess their paths must have crossed at some point.” Also, he mentally added, it wouldn't surprise him if his little sister had spent a good time in the armory bothering the blacksmiths to make her some special weapon.

“From before, I mean,” she added, and he frowned.

“How do you–?”

“My chambermaid told me that her husband, who was working those days along with Lord Baratheon at the forge, told her that Arya went several times to speak with him, and that they seemed to be _flirting._ Her husband’s words, not mine,” Sansa continued telling him, with a smirk. “She said he told her they seemed to be very acquainted since the very first day, that he called her by her given name, and that Lord Baratheon spent hours working in some kind of spear with two points that our beloved sister had requested from him, and went to deliver it himself some hours before the start of the battle.”

Jon knew what she was hinting, and he didn’t like it.

Where they would have known each other, anyway? Maybe, in King’s Landing, as Gendry had told him that he had met his fa… uncle. Maybe Arya was with her father at that time, and both would have crossed one another word. Or, knowing Arya, perhaps she would have somehow ended up feeling sympathy for the Blacksmith in no time. She had told him more than once that her favorite people were bastards, after all.

“And, I was the one who was there to say goodbye to Lord Baratheon when he left to Storm's End,” she kept speaking, translating his silence as if he wanted her to give him more insight in the matter. “He looked… sad, which was weird for someone who had just been legitimized, and about to get to his own lands. He even asked me about Arya before getting on his mount! But, my maid hadn’t told me these things about them, so I didn’t see anything weird in his question.”

That caught his curiosity.

“What did he ask you?”

“If my sister had left to King’s Landing with the Northern army,” she replied, resting her hands on the railing. “He seemed nervous before asking, like he had been spending a while rehearsing his words. And, when I told him that I had no idea, that I never know what Arya’s up to, I’m pretty sure I heard him say something under his breath, but I couldn’t actually catch what it was.”

Jon groaned, and promised himself he would ask the former blacksmith about all those things, if he ever sees him again. He knew they hadn’t meet each other for long, their closeness only lasting from when they met in Dragonstone to when they arrived to Winterfell, but he considered him a friend,

Sansa sighed.

“I guess, we will never know,” she wailed, but he preferred things to stay that way.

They talk again about her proposal when he was about to leave again, and he couldn’t help asks her if the Lords would approve it, in the case he accepted. She tells him all lords have agreed already, they all respect him as a warrior and a friend, and that they would gladly defend him from anyone who could oppose.

The North remembers, and he was a Stark.

“I’m not a Stark,” he replied.

They were sitting in her solar, breaking their fast. 

“Yes, you are,” Sansa said, looking at him as if he had suddenly gone mad. “You have the blood of a Stark, so you are one. It doesn’t matter if it comes from father, or aunt Lyanna, the true North is in your veins,” she drinks from her tea, looking thoughtful all of a sudden, and then she smiled.

Jon knew that nothing good could come from that smile.

“You said you didn’t want the Targaryen name–”

“I still don’t want it,” he flinched. “Ugh, I thought I wouldn’t have to say that anymore,” he admitted with a frown, and she snickered.

« _I don’t want it_ », how many times did he have to say those words? And, how many times people still ignore them? He didn’t want the title of Lord Commander, he didn’t want the Northern crown, and he definitely didn’t want to become the king of the fucking seven kingdoms, and still people kept pushing him to get those things.

“–So, I was thinking,” Sansa continued speaking, as if he hadn’t say a word. “What if I legitimize you as a Stark? Would you like that?”

He didn’t see that coming.

“I can’t be a Stark,” he said, when he was able to overcome the surprise.

Sansa smiled. “Why not?” she asked him, taking a sip of her drink. “You don’t want that either? You prefer to be a Snow? I understand if you would, but I thought you–”

“It’s not that,” he cut her off, looking at his own plate.

“Then, what is it?”

“It wouldn’t be right,” Jon looked up at her. “Father…” he sighed. “Ned Stark wasn’t my father,”

“He was your father,” she said, stubbornly. “He raised you as such. Besides, your mother was a Stark, and that makes you a Stark as well,” she replied, reaching to touch his hand over the table. “I believe women should be able to give their names to their children, if that's what they want. After all, it is the mothers who carry their children in their bellies for several months, who have to endure nausea and the change in their bodies, in addition to the pain of childbirth. Isn't that enough to deserve their names to be passed on to their children?”

The thought of his own mother, Lyanna Stark, whom he only knew from those few stories he had heard about her while growing up, made his heart ached. He wished he had met her, and to be able to tell her that he was fine, that he was grateful to her for giving him his life. He wished he could have her in front of him to tell her that he forgave her for not being there all his life, that he didn't blame her for everything he had had to endure, and that he understood why she had decided to leave everything behind and follow her heart. He wished he had had the same bravery in the past, when he was with Ygritte, and she had suggested that they stay in that cave forever.

Of course, that happiness wouldn’t have lasted long, and eventually war would have found them. The one between the wildlings and the night watch, or the one between life and death. They could even have been turned into wights. But, oh… it would have been a beautiful dream while it lasted.

“Jon?”

He came out of his thoughts, and fixed his gaze on Sansa, noticing by the worried expression on her face that perhaps he had been absent too long, and that she expected an answer to a question that he had not listened.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Jon asked, looking at his sister’s eyes.

“I asked you if you want to be a Stark,” she replied, a soft smile appearing on her lips. “I know it’s a lot. But, I really want you to know that even if I wasn’t the nicest to you when we were younger, I grew out of those stupid prejudices that made me behave that way, and I consider you nothing but family. And I'm sure that both Bran and Arya, wherever she is, will agree to you wearing the Stark name. What's more, I'm sure dad, Robb and Rickon would agree too, if they were still with us. Even mom, if she knew the truth,” she squeezed his hands. “As our sister would say, you are part of the pack.”

He began to feel a lump in the throat, and the characteristic sting of the tears beginning to form increasing in his eyes.

“I–” he cleared his throat. “That's all I ever wanted while growing up.”

“And now?” she asked, cautiously. “Do you still want it?” their gazes met, and it was at that moment that he knew exactly what his answer would be.

“I do,” he let out a tearful chuckle. “I really want it.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets someone, and might be considering more seriously Sansa's proposal to be her Lord Commander.
> 
> And, Arya's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to tank those who took the time to read the first part and give it kudos, it meant the world! 
> 
> I know this is different from what I've written before, but Jon is also one of my favorite characters and I really wanted to give him a softer epilogue from the one he got at the series.
> 
> Hope I get to read what you think in the comments.
> 
> Please, be aware that english is not my first language, and that I didn't use a beta for this work so there might be mistakes.
> 
> Much love, x

“So, should I call you Stark now?” his friend patted his back, with a huge smile on his face, as he heard the news.

They were in one of the newest Free Folk settlements, which was located in the middle of the haunted forest, to which the redhead had just arrived that night. Jon, on the other hand, had been there for a fortnight, helping to build cabins and various gathering spaces for the Free Folk and their families, and making agreements with the leaders of this community for the delivery of aid from the northern kingdom and the establishment of communication channels with the night watch, in case they needed their help to maintain their security and to create training spaces so they learn to defend themselves.

“I guess so,” he replied with a smile in his face, looking at Ghost, who was being petted by some of the children.

As soon as he had agreed, Sansa had gotten some papers from her desk and put them in front of him, so he could sign them. ‘ _You had everything settled already,’_ he had told her, amused. That’s something very Sansa. _‘I mean, could have said no,’_ he continued, and she had laughed. Yes, she had replied him, she knew he could have said no in that moment, and in that case, she would have kept those papers there for as long as it would have taken him to change his mind.

“Jon Stark,” his friend sang, and took a gulp of his wineskin. “It has a nice ring to it,” he toasted at the air.

Jon laughed. It did.

“What about the little pup?” Tormund pointed at Ghost with his chin. “Did the runt survive the trip to Winterfell? The little one was really small and weak when our furry friend brought her to the camp.”

“She did,” Jon smiled, remembering the little Direwolf being fed and carried like a baby by the Queen of the north herself, and as day by day she had grown and strengthened, until she was the size of a large regular dog on the day he had left. “Sansa is taking care of her in Winterfell,” he shrugged.

“I’m glad for the little thing,” the wildling nodded, and took another gulp of his wineskin, then offered it to him. “Did you choose a name?” he asked, and Jon smiled, remembering how Sansa had hugged him goodbye, and then suddenly seemed to have a realization, as she pulled away from him.

‘ _Snow!’_ she had cried out, and he had laughed.

 _‘it’s Stark now, remember?’_ he had asked her, very amused, as the letter to the Citadel with his legitimization had been already sent. 

‘ _No, no… I mean, Snow, that’s how I’m going to call her,’_ she pointed at the young Direwolf, who Ghost was covering with licks. _‘Do you like it?’_ she had asked him, and he smiled broadly and gave her another hug.

He loved it.

“She’s looking at you,” Tormund told him, looking somewhere past his shoulder, when they were helping in the building of the cabin that was going to be used for meetings of the council of elders and for small social gatherings.

Jon followed his gaze, and found a young woman called Valya, who he remembered was the granddaughter of one of the council members. He looked back at his friend, finding an insinuating smile on his face that he wished he could erase straight away. He knew what the Wildling was implying, but he still didn't feel ready to be with someone else, after what had happened on both occasions when he had allowed himself to feel something else for someone else.

“I can’t,” he said, retaking his task.

“You can’t what?” his friend asked, still looking at the woman. “The Queen in the north herself released you from your vows, so nothing stops you now from having a good fuck.”

He flinched.

“I held in my arms the lifeless bodies of the two women I loved. One of them died because of me, the other I killed myself,” he sighed. “I am not prepared to face the possibility of having to hold a third.”

Jon felt his friend's huge hand on his shoulder, giving him a friendly squeeze.

“They are different times, my friend,” he smiled at him. “The war is over, the dead are dead, and those of us who are still alive cannot lose ourselves in their memory, because then we will forget to live what we have left. Besides, I'm not suggesting you to marry her, or even that you love her, I'm just telling you that she seems to be interested in warming up your bed in the near future, and that you would be an idiot if you didn't take the opportunity to have a little skin contact.”

And, with that, Tormund continued with his work without mentioning the subject in question.

A couple of days later he woke up with his cot feeling a bit warmer, as his bare chest was pressed against the back of said woman’s back, his arm rested on her middle, and their legs were intertwined with each other.

He smiled, as he remembered the events of the night before.

Valya had come to him during supper, a friendly smile on her face as she started to thank him for his help to build their new settlement, and making him some questions about the lands south of the wall. They spoke then, about so many things he couldn’t even remember most of their conversation, just that he hadn't felt so good talking to someone other than his family or close friends in a long time.

At some time, they spoke about their past lovers, and he told her what he felt ready to share about Ygritte and Dany, as some things still hurt so much to be mentioned. She told him that she had also loved someone before, a man who she was running away with after their village was attacked by wights. They had traveled together for several moons, almost reaching the wall when they had the misfortune to encounter another group of walkers, who had attacked them merciless. He died from his wounds after they finally got to flee, and she had had to burn his body herself before he could rise again and become one of them. After that, she had managed to get to Eastwatch, where she had reunited with her grandmother and other members of her village, whom she believed she had lost.

Jon didn’t know they had so much in common.

After that, everything went in a blur.

She confessed him that she had thought about asking him to kidnap her, and he joked about him considering to accept doing it after the conversation they just had, and then they were passionately kissing and rushing into his cabin, starting to peel off pieces of clothing as they approached his cot, and moaning in unison as he sank into her.

Lazily, he started to run the line of her spine upwards with his fingertips, as the hand on her waist brought her closer so he could leave a chaste kiss on the nape of her neck, after getting her wavy black hair out of the way.

She let him know that she was awake with a soft moan, and so he smiled and allowed his hand to wander all over her soft skin, driving her mad, until she couldn't do anything but turn and capture his lips on hers, igniting another round of passionate kisses, and moans, and unimaginable pleasure which culminated with the two of them reaching their peak in unison.

Twice.

They didn’t do promises, but they kept holding each other under the furs of his cot every night for the next couple of months, and he even told her about the Queen’s proposal of becoming the head of her Queensguard.

“What’s keeping you from saying yes?” she asked him, as they laid bare in his mattress, her lips softly kissing each of the scars that reminded him that he was living an extra life. “Seems like a great opportunity,” her hand went further south, making him hold his breath. “And, don’t tell me it’s because of me, because I know that’s horseshit,” she smiled, as she took him on her hand, and started to stroke that part of his anatomy.

He swore.

“You– ugh, you would have to stop doing that if… ah… if you want me to be ab… le to respond,” she did, and he had to take almost a minute to organize his thought, unable to avoid feeling like a green boy. “Winterfell was my home for a long time, but since I first came north I haven't been there for long, even when I was named king in the north,” he confessed. “All these times I've been there lately I've felt strange. There are times when I feel at home, mainly when I talk to Sansa about our family, or when I train in the yard. But, then I remember all those people who used to be there, and that they will never come back, and I can't avoid that feeling of wanting to run away… and, that makes me afraid. I’m afraid of Winterfell not being my home anymore.”

She kissed his collarbone. “I understand that feeling,” her lips went to his chin. “I also feel like fleeing away from this place sometimes,” she found his lips, giving him a chaste kiss, as her hands sank in his curls. “Too many ghosts,” her lips concluded, and then any rational thought left their minds when they were lost again in each other.

He went back to Winterfell a fortnight later, and even without yet accepting her proposal to be Lord Commander of her Queensguard, he began training new recruits. Ghost, as usual, was also with him, and it was really nice to see his Direwolf reuniting with his daughter, and then cuddling together by the fireplace while he and Sansa talked about the various affairs of the kingdom, making him imagine the possibility of actually staying.

But, then he thinks about Valya, her soft hazel eyes framed by the ebony black of her hair, and about those nights he spent memorizing every inch of her body, and he doubts. He doesn't know if it's love yet, but at the moment, he doesn't want to be away from her for long.

“You’re thinking about a woman,” Sansa spoke, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Jon chuckled.

“How do you know?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“You used to have the exact same expression in your face when you were with–” she held herself back for a while, and then sighed. “When you were with the dragon queen.”

He nodded, and then flashes of those days when he had been completely love-struck for Daenerys Targaryen suddenly invaded his mind, making him sigh. How he wished things had been different then, that the love they had for each other would have been enough, and that the gods had not conspired to break each of the threads that supported and kept her sane. He wouldn't have had to put a dagger to her heart, and things would be very different now.

 _’Where would he be?’_ He asked himself. ’ _With her at King's Landing? Being her consort? Ruling at her side?’_ His mind wandered at all those possibilities, and then some realization stroke straight into his chest: he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Not then, not now, not ever.

He was born a Targaryen, yes. But, he had been raised as a Stark by his uncle, and so his place was in the North. He would never have been happy in the South, having to live with the constant awareness of being in danger, because that’s the life of those who decide to reign over Westeros, and because that’s the only thing Starks have met when they had decided to live there.

As Tormund once told to him, he’s of the North.

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa apologized, surely after seeing how his gaze darkened after her being mentioned. “Please, tell me about this new woman,” she asked him.

He sighed, and his mind brought back the pleasant memories of the past few months.

“Her name is Valya,” Jon started to say, and could see how her dreamy smile, the one that reminded him of when they were children and she kept mentioning the romantic ballads, reappeared on her lips. “She’s from the latest wildling settlement we are helping to re-build in the middle of the haunted forest,” he continued, and then more questions came.

How was she? How long have they known each other? And, how long have they been together? He told her that she reminded him of the free spirit of his first love, and the will of his second, but that she was as different to them as day and night. She told her how she would easily put a smile on his face with her teasing, and how she would play with the children of the settlement to give their mothers a break, dragging him so that he would too. He told her how he had gotten used to have her in his bed every night, making it practically impossible to sleep lately, even if the feather bed was much more comfortable than the cot he had used in the settlement.

“I wish I could meet her,” Sansa said, the dreamy smile still on her lips. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“I wish you do too,” he replied, with a bigger grin.

They spoke about her love life as well.

She tells him that she had got some marriage proposals from many lords from all over Westeros. And that, so far, she had managed to evade them, but that she knew that at some point she would have to agree. She was the queen, and she needed to bring an heir into the world.

“All the lords and ladies of the North have been very understanding, but I know my duties, and one of them is to bring the next king of queen in the North to this world,” she sighed. “But, I can’t choose anyone to be my consort, as they don’t want anyone but a Stark to wear the crown, so I still have a lot to think about before that happens.”

It couldn’t be anyone with an important title, one who would wish his name to be passed on to their offspring. It had to be someone who would be okay letting her rule, someone who she could trust, and that could help her to deal with all their bannermen and the common folk.

“There’s a knight, Sir Harrold Hardyngs, he is a good friend from the Vale,” she confessed, after a while. “We have been exchanging correspondence for a while. He is helping my cousin to get ahead with his duties as lord of the Vale, but he told me in his latest letter that he had grown fond to me, and that he wished me to allow him to come visit and court me properly,” she sighed.

“And, you want him to?” he cautiously asked, and she looked surprise by his question.

“I don’t know,” Sansa looked down at her own intertwined hands. “This is hard for me to tell, but I still have nightmares about those days I was married to Ramsay Bolton, and the very idea of letting someone touch me again makes me feel sick,” she shuddered.

He nodded.

“Maybe you can ask him to give you some time,” he suggested. "If his affection is authentic he will understand," this time it was his hand that found hers, giving them a soft but encouraging squeeze.

He stays for six month this time, and gets used to training with the guards, and to visit Winter Town to hear the common folk. He also accompanies Sansa on her daily duties, giving her his opinion about trades with different places in Westeros and Essos, and reinforcing the need to continue working hand in hand with free folk. Sansa traveled to see the re-construction of some castles all around the North, and he goes as well, acting as the un-official Lord Commander of her Queensguard.

“So, you know what’s the job about,” she had told him, as they walked out from a meeting with Lord Manderly in his solar, as they made their way back to their assigned rooms in White Harbor. “This way you will have better arguments to accept or reject it, depending on the decision you make.”

He had laughed, and followed her by the corridors.

Then, he accompanied her to the rest of the keeps where she had promised to go, and gave his and gave his comments regarding the security of the realm when they were requested, also managing to reunite with friends he had made during the war. And, it felt right, like it was where he was meant to be.

“I’ve missed you,” Valya had told him when he got back to her settlement, as she pushed him to his cot, and immediately climbed onto her lap. “You were gone for so freaking long,” she continued, sinking her hands in his heir, and he captured her lips with his as he intended to silence any other complaints that would come from them, while his hands were in charge of getting rid of all the clothes that still covered their bodies.

“I know, I know…” his lips went down her throat, and she let out a low groan. “I’m sorry,” his lips continued traveling lower. “My sister asked me to go with her to meet some of their lords in their keeps,” his lips found their destination, obtaining a loud moan from hers. “and I couldn't be so terrible as to separate Ghost from his daughter in such short time, could I?” he took the peak of one of her breasts with his teeth, and then all chatting was long forgotten.

It wasn’t until later, when they were satisfied and peaceful laying on his coat, that he uttered another word than her name amid groans.

“I think I will accept the Queen’s proposal,” he whispered against her neck, feeling her hand freeze on his back. “Tormund told me all the north wall settlements are finally built and thriving, and that the agreements with both kingdoms have meant that they are supplied and receiving all the help they need,” he closed his eyes. “I guess I can ask her to allow me to come here sometimes to check how things are going with the Free Folk, but it’s time for me to be at home.”

She didn’t speak for a while.

“You found it,” she said, and he looked down to find her, her arms folded over his bare chest and her chin resting on top of them. But it was her eyes what make his heart fluster. “Your home, I mean. You finally found your way back home,” she said, a sad smile peeking from her lips.

“I did,” he brushed a strand of her jet hair from her face, and she smiled.

“I’m glad for you,” she kissed his chest, and his hands wandered down her back. “I really am,” he felt her starting to kiss lower and lower, so against his own yearning he took either side of her face with his hands, making her hazel eyes meet his gray.

Jon sighed.

“What would you do if I carry you on my shoulder, and take you with me when I leave this settlement in a moon’s turn?” he asked, and was dazzled by the bright smile that appeared on her face.

“I’d put a fight, of course,” her lips caressed his with a chaste kiss. “I will scream and hit you with everything I have, as expected from a free woman like myself,” she kissed him again, more passionately now, and he felt his arousal grow. “These people need a good show,” she bit his lower lip.

“But, you’d want it?” he sought her gaze, and she laughed.

“There is nothing I want more than to be with you,” she replied, and he could feel her hand making sure he was ready for another round. “Besides, I really want to know that place that you call home, and I've heard about wonderful things people can do in feather beds.” His last coherent thought was that he was going to show her each and every one of these.

When he finally arrived back to the gates of his home, he is bringing a larger group of people with him than he had formerly expected, as when he, Valya and Ghost had got to Castle Black, they had found Lörinc and some other black brothers getting everything settled so they could ride south, as it had been requested so they could pick up some new recruits for the watch in Winterfell that had been sent from King's Landing.

“You found a really nice and caring woman to share your life with,” his friend told him when they were still on the road, looking at the free woman who was riding a few meters ahead of them, with Ghost calmly jogging on her right flank. “I’m very glad for you,” he concluded. And Jon, who was still in pain from the fists and kicks she had given him while he kidnapped her from her village, just laughed.

“Me too,” he replied, completely sincere, remembering how she had kissed each of his sore spots when they were completely alone in the middle of the woods. “What about the woman you love?” he asked then, his eyes still on the one in front of him. “Are you planning on seeing her while you are in Winterfell?” he continued, lowering his voice.

Lörinc shook his head.

“She must have already started a family with someone else,” he said, also quietly. “That's what I asked her to do.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jon replied, and the blonde shrugged.

“that's the only thing I could have done for her.”

They didn’t speak of that subject for the rest of the journey.

As they approached the Queen and those who accompanied her at the yard, after they handed over their reins to a stable groom, Ghost got ahead of them and went to greet his daughter first, which had grown quite a bit in the past few months.

“I’m so glad to see you back so soon, brother,” Sansa said, and they both joined in a warm embrace, which lasted until she noticed the woman who had come with him. “For the old gods, you brought her!” she shouted, with a huge smile, after they pulled away from each other.

He smiled, and he reached out to Valya to ask her to come closer.

“Your Grace,” the free woman said with a slight bow of her head when she got next to him, making him look at her in awe. They had spoken about _southern_ customs when they were on the road, and she had asked him what was the way to speak to a queen. He had explained it all to her, but he had also told her that she shouldn't do it if she didn't want to, as she wasn’t actually from Westeros. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” she added, and Jon could see the authentic and warm smile on his sister’s face.

Suddenly, he remembered how different it had been in the past, when Sansa had met who had been the woman he loved at the time, for the introduction of both women had included false cordiality and suspicious glances.

He shooed that memory from his mind.

“It is a pleasure to meet you too, Valya. The last time my dear brother was here, he kept talking about you,” she replied, looking to an embarrassed Jon. “Also, please call me Sansa, and you don't have to bow neither. Family doesn't have to do those things,” she looked back at her and took her hand, and he could feel his own smile grow on his lips as both women looked at each other with respect and admiration.

“Thank you, your– Sansa,” Valya smiled, and then Sansa gave some orders to her men to arrange rooms for Lörinc and the rest of those who had traveled with them, before taking the free woman's arm, guiding her inside the keep, and asking her about the trip and other things about him that Jon would prefer not to be mentioned.

“Does this mean you accept, or am I reading it wrong?” Sansa came to speak with him the next morning, as he finished sparring with some of the new guards, and went to get something to refresh himself.

The day before, they have arrived at late afternoon, so they hadn’t had much time to have this conversation. He and Valya had been tired from the long trip, and all they had wanted to do after dinner had been to go to sleep, so Sansa had not asked him anything at the time about why it seemed as if that trip was its acceptance.

“It depends,” he replied, pulling on his jerkin. “What are the conditions of the position? As I understand, the southern Kingsguard takes an oath of chastity. Does that also apply to your Queensguard? Because, in that case, you will understand if my answer is not what you expected,” he looked at Valya, who was several meters from them, lively talking to Lörinc and some of the servants who surely were asking her questions about true north.

“Didn't Jaime Lannister break those vows from time to time with his own sister?” Sansa asked, and they both grimaced. “Those kinds of oaths are useless… when something is forbidden, people tend to do it even more, and what is worse they get to do terrible things to keep it hidden,” she sighed. “As I see it, whoever loves someone freely will do their best to do things well for that person, becoming more honorable than if they didn’t, so that they feel proud of him or her.”

Jon smiled.

“Then, there isn’t a vow?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Not the same vow Bran made his Kingsguard do, at least,” she told him, laughing when they both saw Snow being a real pain in the arse for Ghost, while the older Direwolf was just trying to have a nap. “I still will ask you to protect me and any member of my family from any harm, which you’d actually do without having to make an oath, as you are part of this family as well,” she continued speaking, as they went to sit to a bench. “But, you are free to have your own life, to be the person you want to be… you can hold a land and have a wife, if that’s what you desire, and she can carry your children and give them your name. After all, it would be nice to have more Starks around, wouldn’t it? And, I want to be an aunt.”

He chuckled.

“As my Queen commands,” he said, and they both let out a loud laugh.

“But, that’s not the only thing I want to change from the Lord Commander position,” she continued, when their laughter finally faded. “I have decided to unite both positions, that of Lord Commander and that of the Master of War (although, I would call it better Master of Peace), and make it one. As such, you will be in charge of the security of the entire kingdom, not just mine, and you will be in constant communication with our bannermen to ensure that there is nothing that threatens our peace,” she looked at him, expectantly.

“And what happens when we have to fight in the south?” he asked, since his acquittal did not extend to the other six kingdoms.

“Bran is working on it,” she replied, with a shrug. “But, the truth is, I don't think it's necessary at the moment, since our brother has enough control over his kingdom that we don't need to intervene.”

He stayed in silence for a couple of minutes, while his mind got used to the idea of everything that his sister offered him, and finally a smile appeared on his face.

“I’ll do it,” he replied, and for the first time in his life he was sure that he had made the right decision, and that he had done it for the right reasons.

There was a feast the next day, in which he got knighted, and then officially named the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, receiving only cheers from all attendees. Soon, the whole realm knew that the former King in the north, who had brought them all together so they could survive the long night, was now in charge of commanding the northern military forces, and to ensure peace in the kingdom, and support messages started coming from all the keeps.

“I didn’t know you were so popular here, Jon Stark,” Valya told him, as they laid on his featherbed, as bare as when they had been brought to this world. “It makes me glad that you stole me, so all those fancy ladies who came to the feast tonight know that I’m yours, and that you’re mine,” she crawled up onto him, her head resting on his shoulder, while she drew figures on his chest with her fingers.

“Only yours,” Jon replied, wrapping his arms around her, and lazily stroking her lower back. “Forever and always,” he promised.

“Good,” she kissed his chin, receiving a slight grunt in response. He closed his eyes, and then he thought she had finally fallen asleep, until he heard her voice again. “Hmm… by the way, they weren't lying when they told me about the perks of featherbeds, you really can do wonderful things on these things,” she finished with a yawn.

Jon laughed, and tightened his embrace.

“And I plan to show you many more in the near future,” he promised, kissing her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, and finally her lips, until they had to pull away to get air into their lungs.

“Don’t tease, Stark… do,” she breathed out, and he obliged.

Who was he to deny her something? 

“She’s back,” Sansa’s voice announced, right after she finished reading the letter they had gotten from Bran, and that the maester had brought to their table minutes earlier, as they sat at her solar.

It’s been eight months since Jon had moved back to Winterfell, and everything was going nicely, as he had gotten to move around the north helping their bannermen to reinforce the security of their keeps, and providing some protection to commoners who had been dealing with thieves and various types of abuse, mainly those who would have once been under the yoke of the Boltons and those who supported them.

“Who’s back?” he asked, too distracted by his conversation with Valya, who was telling him about her progress with reading and writing, and about other things she had done while he was gone, to catch the meaning of Sansa's words immediately. But, then he did, and quickly took the letter from the queen’s hands.

“He only says that Arya’s ship arrived at a port in Westeros, but doesn’t say which one, just that he’s with an _old friend_ , and that she will write us when she’s ready,” the redhead continued, looking upset. Why hadn’t she come to them first? Who was this friend? Jon knew those were the questions in his sister’s head, since these were the ones in his head. He looked down at the letter, and read it a couple of times, before sighing.

“At least she’s alive,” he said, giving the letter back to Sansa. “And we don’t have to worry about her drowning in the middle of the sea,” he added, trying to calm her down, and himself in the process.

She sighed.

“You’re talking about your sister? The one who sailed West?” Valya asked him, giving a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, and he nodded. “I’m glad she’s back, then. I hope to meet her,” she added, and after kissing him on the cheek she rose from her seat, excusing himself to go to one of her writing classes.

Jon smiled as she walked her leave, feeling her presence as a balm for the amount of emotions he felt at the moment.

“Where do you think she is?” Sansa asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, with a shrug.

Unfortunately, in the time they had been together again in Winterfell, he had been too busy getting everything ready for the battle against the others, that he hadn’t had much time to speak to Arya and learn about what she had done in the time they were apart.

“Maybe, she has a friend in the Riverlands,” Sansa continued, looking thoughtful. “Brienne told me she found her there once, with the Hound. Maybe she made some friends there.”

“Maybe.”

“Or… remember we were once talking about how close she seemed to be to the blacksmith?” she continued speaking, still looking at the words written on the piece of parchment. “Lord Baratheon, I mean,” she corrected herself.

“You think she’s with Gendry?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“It’s a possibility.”

In that moment, Lörinc entered to the solar.

He was fully dressed in his Queensguard armor, and was sporting the broadest smile, which made Jon glad he had talked to Sansa after his friend approached him a couple of days after they had arrived from Castle Black, confessing that he had met his beloved again, and that his vows had been broken.

Now, he has been named as his second in command.

“Excuse me, your Grace… Ser, but Lord Tallhart just arrived to Winterfell, and is requesting an audience with your Grace,” he spoke, looking at the queen, who nodded as Jon got on his feet.

“Let him in,” she ordered, and then looked at him as he stood behind her, adopting his guard position. “Let’s see what Lord Tallhart wants, and we can continue to speculate about our sister's friends later,” she said, and Jon nodded with a smile.

His little sister was back.

They learnt who Arya’s friend was several fortnights later, right after he came back to Winterfell from his annual trip to supervise the progress in the establishments of the free folk communities that were located in the vicinity of the gift.

Another of his new duties as Lord Commander.

They got another letter, written in their sister’s handwriting, but sealed with the Baratheon emblem.

«Dear sister,» he read. Of course, Arya didn’t know he was back at Winterfell. «I know you weren’t expecting me to write you this letter, much less that it would come from Storm’s End. But, I have my reasons to come here first, and I hope you can understand when I get to tell them to you in person, as there are details that I prefer not to write in a letter that could be read by other person.» Jon frowned.

“Continue reading,” Sansa asked him, and he sighed before doing as requested.

«The only thing I can tell you is that I know Lord Baratheon from before. And no, I am not referring to that time when we were getting ready for the long night, but from much earlier.»

“See? I told you they knew each other,” Sansa shrieked, and he looked up at her with an expression that said he was not very pleased with the interruption.

“Can I continue?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Go ahead.”

«We met the day father was killed. When I managed to run away from King's Landing, disguised as a boy, with a group of people traveling north. He was one of them, and he, too, was fleeing Cersei's schemes, although he did not know it then. We traveled together for a while. He was my best friend, my pack. The only person I trusted, and who trusted me above all else,» Jon has to stop himself, as he thought about when he met Gendry, and how he had mentioned knowing his father, but not his sister. Did he know she was her? Why did he keep that information from himself? He swore he would ask if they ever meet again. «I’m fine, I swear I am. And I promise I will visit soon, but now I’m trying to mend something really stupid that I did in the past, and depending on how everything goes I will take my future plans. I love you, and I miss you. Love, Arya.»

That was a lot of information to digest.

“So, the question here is… what was that stupid thing she did?” the redhead asked, and Jon shrugged.

“We will know someday, I guess,” he gave the letter back to her. “Or not, you never know with Arya.”

He stood, and with the permission of the Queen he left the room, as it was late, and he really wanted to sink into his covers wrapped by the naked body of the woman he loved.

They didn’t know anything else about Arya for several months, and he was starting to feel anxious, as they had written to Storm’s End and the only thing they had received as response was a letter from Davos who told them that their sister and Lord Baratheon were away, and that they would let them know when they were back.

It’s been six months since then.

Sansa, Valya and him were breaking their fast at the great hall when Lörinc approached them, and informed him that the guards had seen riders heading to Winterfell, which carried with them the banner of the Baratheon house.

He stood immediately, and informed both women of their visitors when they looked at him with concern, leading the way to the yard, where they would welcome them.

Anxiously, he saw the group of riders as they were going through the gates, immediately recognizing his sister and the man he once came to call his friend (he hoped he could still do it), who went on the front, followed by ten other riders.

Arya dismounted, and skipping all the protocols, ran directly to hug him.

“You’re not at the wall,” she sobbed against his neck, and he smiled and closed his arms on her back, pulling her closer.

“You’re not sailing west,” he replied, leaving a kiss on her forehead.

“Touché,” She laughed, and then went to hug her sister, still keeping an arm around him so it became in a hub between the three siblings.

It was when they pulled apart that he noticed Gendry approaching them, looking as nervous as when Davos had introduced them in the Dragonstone cave.

“Your Grace,” the former blacksmith bowed towards Sansa. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, and in better times,” he continued, receiving a warm reply from the queen, before turning to face him. “Jon,” he said, cautiously. Did he expect Jon to tell him that he couldn't keep calling him by his given name? “I’m glad to see you here.”

He smiled.

“Equally, my friend,” he smiled towards the man, and then looked at Valya, who was looking at them in awe. He took his sister’s hand, and guided her in front of the free woman. “Valya, let me introduce you to my sister Arya. Sister, this is Valya. She is… my pack,” he said, remembering the words she had used to refer to Gendry in her letter, and seeing the recognition gleaming in her grey eyes.

“Pleasure to meet you, Valya,” she said, taking the woman’s hand. “My brother’s pack is immediately part of mine,” she added, looking at him with a smile.

After that, Sansa had asked them if they had already broken their fast, and at their negative response, everyone moved to the great hall so they could do just that. It was them when they could look at their visitors, and the way they seemed as connected as if they could read each other’s mind.

Arya, while eating, told them as much as possible so they could understand how she and the Lord of Storm’s End met each other. She told them about Yoren and the Night Watch’s recruits, about the bull-shaped helmet and some boy with green hands who died holding it. She told them about Harrenhal and how they had almost killed Gendry, until Tywin Lannister appeared and stopped the guards, putting them to work instead. She told them about the strange man who helped them to scape that place, and how she, Gendry, and some boy unlucky enough to call himself Hot Pie, traveled alone through the Riverlands until they met with a group of men called the Brotherhood Without Banners. And then, she told them about how they wanted to take her to her mother and Robb, and how Gendry had told her that he would be staying with them as he thought they couldn’t be friends anymore when she went back to her family, only to be betrayed and sold to the red woman by them, in exchange for a few coins.

“I thought she was dead, that they had arrived in time for the twins to be slaughtered by the Freys, so I was afraid you would have thought it was my fault,” Gendry explained, when Jon questioned why he hadn’t told him all those things when they met, telling him that stupidity about their parents being friends instead. “I thought it was my fault myself… I never should have even considered leaving her, I should have been there to protect her.”

Jon nodded, fully understanding him.

“But, you weren’t together then, right?” Sansa asked, and Jon noticed Gendry’s astonishment. If they weren’t discussing his little sister’s virtue he would have found it funny.

“I was barely ten and four the last time we saw each other… it wasn’t like that,” Arya explained, and he felt the air that he did not know he was holding come out of his lungs. “But, then we met back in Winterfell, and I think the possibility of imminent death made us realize that we felt something for each other, and that we had no time to waste.”

“Then, when we survived, I got legitimized–”

“And drunk,” Arya stepped in, and Gendry laughed.

“ _And drunk_ ,” he quoted her, shaking his head. “And did the most stupid thing I could have done: I asked her to marry me.”

Arya sighed and put her hand on top of his, and only then he noticed the metal hoop on his sister’s finger, which was the same as the one the Lord of Storm’s end wore on his.

“I did the most stupid thing that night,” She looked at the other man for a while, and then turned to look at her siblings. “I said no, because in my mind, there was nothing else I could do but finish my list. And then, when I again survived what I would think would be my death, and all the names on my list were dead, I realized I didn't know who I was anymore,” she sighed. “I had to leave.”

Jon felt his heart ache.

His little sister had seen so much in the last years… she had loved and lost, she had forgotten who she was, and found herself again. He reached and touched her other hand, giving her a soft smile when her grey eyes met his.

“I’m glad you found your way back home,” he told her, and then looked at the man who, like him, had grown up as a bastard. “Your very own home.”

“I could have told you she was alive,” he told Gendry, as they sat in a bench next to the training yard, as they looked at the younger recruits being trained by Lörinc. “When we met at the cave, I had already received a letter from Sansa telling me that Arya and Bran were back at home. If you had told me about her, I could have told you she was alive and here, in Winterfell.”

The Lord of Storm’s End sighed.

“We can’t change our past actions, can we?” he said, looking ahead, to the men training. “I was ashamed that I couldn’t bring her back to you, her favorite brother.”

“But, you weren’t _together_ before Winterfell?” he had to make sure about that.

Gendry shook his head. “We were children in the middle of a war, all we thought about was surviving,” he looked back at him. “She was the only person left in my life, all the others ... one by one, had disappeared, and she was still there until it was me the one who abandoned her.”

“They took you away,” for some reason, he felt like he had to defend the other man's past self. “You told us that they sold to the priestess.”

He laughed grimly.

“I had already told her that I was going to stay with the brotherhood,” he looked away, ashamed. “She told me she could be my family, and I still rejected her,” he rubbed the nape of his neck. “When I saw her again in Winterfell I thought she was going to yell at me, reproach me for wanting to leave her then, and instead she smiled and teased me as she used to do in the past… but we were no longer children, and as the days passed and the death came closer I realized that what I felt for her was much more than just friendship.”

“And then you asked her to marry you,” he said, and his friend flinched.

“That I did,” he replied. “I was drunk, and all I wanted was to be with her, either way a bastard could be. And then the queen legitimized me, and my drunk mind thought that I finally had something to offer, so I got down on my knee and made the proposal.”

“And she said no.”

“She said that that wasn’t her,” Gendry grunted. “That she was glad for me, but that she couldn’t be a lady in a castle,” he closed his eyes. “I should have known better. I repeated that proposal a million times in my head during these years, feeling like the most stupid person in the world. Why didn't I ask her to be my family instead? Why didn't I just tell her that I would accompany her wherever she wanted to go? No, my stupid and drunk self asked her to be the lady of Storm's End.”

Jon nodded.

“But now she is that, isn't she? The Lady of Storm's End,” he pointed at the ring at the former blacksmith’s hand. “You got married.”

His friend's mood lit up when he looked down at the ring on his finger, smiling almost immediately.

“She appeared in my keep five years later, and told me I should ask again,” he shrugged. “She needed time to find herself again, that's why she sailed west, so I'm glad that I was the first person she looked for after doing it.”

It was then that both men noticed said woman walk towards them, followed by both Direwolves, as if they had now chosen that she was their leader. They both chuckled.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked, sitting in between the two of them, half of her body on Gendry’s lap.

The man put his arm around her middle, and looked at her like she hung the moon. “You,” he replied, and his sister snorted.

“You’re saying good things, I hope,” she said, and her husband shrugged, then looked at him.

“You’ll never know,” he replied, and Jon couldn’t help a laugh when his sister pouted.

“So, Sansa told me that you’re officially a Stark now,” Arya spoke, deciding to dismiss the former conversation. “And, that you are the Lord Commander of the Queensguard.”

Jon nodded. “I’m also knighted,” he added.

Arya reached out and hugged him.

“I'm so happy for you, Jon,” she said, giving him a kiss on his cheek. “You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I’m glad that you have it.”

He tightened his embrace. “Thank you, little sister,” he said, and then smiled as she returned to her former position. sitting on her husband’s lap. “I’m glad for you too,” he looked at Gendry. “Both of you.”

His friend nodded.

“There’s something else we have to tell you,” Arya told him, looking nervous, after she and her husband shared a glance and nodded, as if they were having a silent conversation. “I’m–,” she sighed. “We have been away for a while, I wanted to show Gendry a bit of Essos after our marriage, let him see more of the world I’ve been able to meet. Did you know the world is round? I sailed as west as possible, found many islands in the way, some of them where populated and others weren’t, until we go to what seemed like another continent. But, when we got off the ship, we discovered that we were in Asshai!” a look from Gendry seemed to tell her that she wasn’t getting to the point, and she sighed. “Anyway, we went to Essos, and when we sailed from Lys I started to feel ill, and well… I never get seasick, so it was weird. And, I was having these weird cravings, and my moonblood wouldn’t come, and so when we got to Volantis we looked for someone who could tell us what was wrong, and so they told me that I’m–”

“You’re pregnant,” Jon breathed out, and when his sister nodded he pulled her in for another hug.

“You can barely notice the bump, but it’s here,” she took his hand and put it on her stomach, and he could feel it, even if it was really small. There was a life growing in there. “I didn’t even know if I could get pregnant, because of some injury I got long ago, so it was a huge surprise,” she continued, and he noticed Gendry chuckled, and then kissed the top of her head.

“Sansa knows?” he asked, and Arya nodded.

“I Just told her,” she spoke. “She almost fell of her chair.”

They both laughed.

“She made me promise that I would let her know as soon as it’s born, and…” she looked at her husband. “And I know we’re already married, but she wants us to make our vows again in front of the weirwood tree, and following the northern traditions. I told her I would ask you first, but I really want to do it with my family there, and–”

“Let’s do it,” he spoke before she could say anything else, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, and Jon could see in his sisters face a smile he hadn’t seen in ages, as it resembled to those she used to freely share to those she loved before the war reached to them.

The wedding was a month later, as Sansa insisted that she wanted it to be as perfect as how the princess of the north and the six kingdoms deserved. Bran didn’t get to be with them, but sent a raven with his congratulations, and the promise of a present that would be waiting for them in Storm’s End.

Some of the northern lords and their families attended, since Sansa insisted that at least their most loyal bannermen deserved to be there, in addition to some guests who came from the south, such as their mother's brother, their cousin (accompanied by the man Sansa had told him about), and a cook who worked at the crossroads inn who apparently was friends with the couple.

Jon had the honor of walking his little sister down the aisle, and even if he later would say he hadn’t cried, Valya would contradict him and inform that he cried like a newborn.

 _“He is mine, and I’m his,_ ” he would hear his little sister say, and he couldn’t help ask himself if the woman next to him would ever want to say the same words.

The couple stayed in Winterfell for a couple months more, in which he saw how his sister's lump grew more and more, until she had to give in to Sansa's insistence that she wear dresses.

He had wanted to go with them, to be there the day his nephew or niece was born, but his pardon only applied to the territories north of the neck, so he made them promise to travel again to Winterfell, when the baby was born and it was old enough to travel.

It was a fortnight after their departure that he and Sansa were walking through the Winterfell hallways, a little later than usual, for they had been all day visiting their landowners, supervising the harvests, and had lost track of time.

“Our little sister is married,” he suddenly said, still in shock.

“And pregnant,” Sansa nodded, and then they both chuckled. “I’m kind of jealous, you know? She made it right at the first attempt.”

They fell into a fit of laugher, that only calmed down as they approached the door to her chambers.

“I know that under her traditions, Valya and I are technically married, but after seeing Arya’s wedding I was thinking about asking her to marry me in front of the old gods as well,” he confessed, as they stopped in front of the doors.

The redhead smiled.

“Then, ask her if she would want it,” she said, patting his arm.

He nodded. “I will,” he sighed. “Not today, but I will.”

“I’m really glad for you two,” the queen told him, and then went to open her door, but instead she turned back to look at him. “I spoke with Ser Harrold… to Harry, when he was here for the wedding, and told him he could come to Winterfell whenever he wanted,” she sighed. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet to be with someone, but I think I will never know if I keep avoiding it.”

“that’s good”

When he entered to his chambers he found Valya in their bed, sleeping, so he silently took off his clothes and tried to get to bed without waking her up.

He failed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when she moved closer and put her head on his chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She kissed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I was still half awake,” she said, and then she left another kiss on his neck, as her hand lazily draw circles on his chest. “How did it go?”

“Really good,” he replied, kissing her forehead. “the landowners are doing great, so no one is going to starve.”

She nodded.

“Good,” her lips found his chin, and then they were kissing as he captured them with his, pulling her closer.

And then, he knew he had finally found his home.


End file.
